My husband and I have a tradition.
When we sit down with a cocktail or a glass of wine—whether we’re out at a restaurant or curled up on our own couch—we clink glasses and offer a toast.
Nothing unusual about that. But here’s where it gets interesting: I often raise my glass before I know what I’m going to say.
I lift my glass with intention, even if the words haven’t arrived yet. And then… I speak.
For example, the other day, without preamble or forethought, what came out of my mouth was this:
To remembering and becoming.
To this space in between,
where they meet
and dance presence
into being.
I paused. Letting the words land in the air between us. My own words. That I didn’t know I had in me until they were already spoken.
Sometimes I catch myself wondering, “Where did that come from?”
But I know. It comes from a deep place inside—one that’s usually tucked behind intellect and logic. A place that’s wise and quiet and often not the first to speak.
And it got me thinking: how rare it is to be genuinely surprised by our own voice.
Sure, it happens in moments of anger—when something flies out of our mouth before the filter kicks in. But how often do we surprise ourselves in moments of joy? In moments of grounded presence? In moments of reverence?
How often do we speak without composing, but with intention?
There’s something sacred about cheersing. It’s a small ritual, a brief ceremony. A moment carved out of time to honor… anything. A feeling. A memory. A dream. A now.
And when I clink glasses before I know what I’m toasting to, I’m offering the microphone to a part of me that doesn’t get to speak often enough. I’m trusting that what needs to surface, will.
It’s become a kind of practice. A practice in presence. In intuition. In letting go of control and letting language emerge, not from the mind, but from somewhere softer.
So today, I want to ask you:
When was the last time you let your voice surprise you?
Not in anger. Not in reaction. But in joy? In stillness? In meaning?
When was the last time you created a moment—with intention—and let your voice go free inside it?
Maybe it’s not a toast. Maybe it’s a journal entry. A voice note. A poem. A prayer. A quiet moment before dinner when you pause and speak out loud to no one in particular.
What might emerge if you let your voice go free?
What might you hear from yourself if you listened with curiosity instead of expectation?
What truths might bubble up if you stop trying to be eloquent and just let yourself be honest?
You don’t need a toast to speak something sacred.
But maybe it helps.
So here’s mine, raised now in your direction:
To the parts of us that are wiser than we give them credit for.
To the moments we create space to surprise ourselves.
To the joy of hearing your own voice say something true that you didn’t know you were waiting for.
And if you’re craving space to hear more of that voice—the one beneath the noise—I’d love to work with you.
This is the work I do in coaching: creating sacred space for your truth to rise, unfiltered and fully yours.
[Book a coaching session here.]
Sometimes, the most powerful things we can say are the ones we don’t plan. We just feel. And then… we let them out.
P.S. There are only a few spots left in The Awakening.
If you’re feeling stuck and ready to dive into a deeply transformative, 2-day, in-person experience…The Awakening was made for you. Find out all the details and sign up here.
